


Quiet

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, kink meme fill, rarepair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 15:51:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7690519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was quieter than the other companions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet

He was quieter than the other companions. 

She liked that, if she was honest with herself. Raised voiced made her flinch and even the booming, friendly calls that came from the likes of that Qunari or the Tevinter Magister set her teeth on edge. But the elf, the mage, he spoke with a quiet grace. When he came to her, asking for information on creatures found in the Hissing Wastes, she wasn’t sure what to expect. He was an apostate after all, and fellow elf at that. But he wasn’t Dalish, or at least if he was, he had not stayed long enough to be marked by them. 

(Sometimes, Minaeve looked in the mirror and wondered what she would have looked like with the vallaslin. What her life might have been like, had she not been born with a touch of magic.) 

“I can help you with that, ser,” she said, and went to collect her research notes. They were handwritten, tucked inside another tome about dragons. She handed them over with a moment of hesitation.

“I haven’t made copies yet,” she said, when he looked at her. “I—I mean. Please, if you could be careful with them.”

The slightest smile tugged at the apostate’s mouth. “Have you had such trouble with the Inquisitor’s companions in the past?”

Minaeve flushed. She hadn’t meant to complain. But there was no judgement in his face—only curiosity. “A little, ser. There were… wine stains on the last book I loaned to a mage.”

The apostate looked down at the notes in his hand. “I will return them to you intact.”

“Thank you, ser.” 

Again, he gave her that small smile. “Your manners are commendable but not necessary. You may call me Solas, if you like.”

“All right, ser.” She caught herself a moment too late. A flush crept along her cheeks.

The apostate—no, Solas—gave her a polite nod and left the library. 

* * *

He did return the notes intact.

But more than that, he left his own writing on another page—a firsthand account of wyverns in the Wastes, complete with descriptions and a sample of a claw. 

Minaeve picked up the claw, running her thumb over its sharp edge with care. “Thank you,” she breathed.

Solas laughed quietly. “Most people I know would be confused or perhaps a bit horrified to find that amidst their notes.”

“I,” said Minaeve distractedly, still studying the claw, “am not most people.”

A moment of silence, and then she realized he was staring at her. “No,” he agreed. “You are not.”

And from then on, he always brought her little trinkets on his journeys. An essence of a wisp, a bone from one of the undead, blood from a dragon—all of it was fascinating and she found herself working hard to keep up on her own research. 

“You enjoy learning,” he observed, after a few weeks of this. She was more comfortable around him now, able to talk without that stilted edge to her words. 

“I enjoy knowing about the world I live in,” she replied. “We ignore so much of it—out of habit, I suppose. But I would like to know more.”

He blinked, apparently thrown off balance. “You are rare for your kind.”

“For an elf? Or a circle mage?”

“For anyone,” he said.


End file.
